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El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 3, Página 17
“With
me?”
she
exclaimed
in
surprise.
“Yes,
madame.”
She
got
up
slowly,
raising
her
eyebrows
at
me
in
astonishment,
and
followed
the
butler
toward
the
house.
I
noticed
that
she
wore
her
evening-dress,
all
her
dresses,
like
sports
clothes—there
was
a
jauntiness
about
her
movements
as
if
she
had
first
learned
to
walk
upon
golf
courses
on
clean,
crisp
mornings.
I
was
alone
and
it
was
almost
two.
For
some
time
confused
and
intriguing
sounds
had
issued
from
a
long,
many-windowed
room
which
overhung
the
terrace.
Eluding
Jordan’s
undergraduate,
who
was
now
engaged
in
an
obstetrical
conversation
with
two
chorus
girls,
and
who
implored
me
to
join
him,
I
went
inside.
The
large
room
was
full
of
people.
One
of
the
girls
in
yellow
was
playing
the
piano,
and
beside
her
stood
a
tall,
red-haired
young
lady
from
a
famous
chorus,
engaged
in
song.
She
had
drunk
a
quantity
of
champagne,
and
during
the
course
of
her
song
she
had
decided,
ineptly,
that
everything
was
very,
very
sad—she
was
not
only
singing,
she
was
weeping
too.
Whenever
there
was
a
pause
in
the
song
she
filled
it
with
gasping,
broken
sobs,
and
then
took
up
the
lyric
again
in
a
quavering
soprano.
The
tears
coursed
down
her
cheeks—not
freely,
however,
for
when
they
came
into
contact
with
her
heavily
beaded
eyelashes
they
assumed
an
inky
colour,
and
pursued
the
rest
of
their
way
in
slow
black
rivulets.
A
humorous
suggestion
was
made
that
she
sing
the
notes
on
her
face,
whereupon
she
threw
up
her
hands,
sank
into
a
chair,
and
went
off
into
a
deep
vinous
sleep.
“She
had
a
fight
with
a
man
who
says
he’s
her
husband,”
explained
a
girl
at
my
elbow.
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El Gran Gatsby — C1 Inglés | Cuentana